


Stay, Please

by dharma22



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Dreams, F/M, Fluff, Past Lives, drunk as hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 23:46:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3430010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dharma22/pseuds/dharma22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Wanted to write something 'bout these little shit life-ruiners.<br/>Hope i hit the mark.<br/>As for the translation, n ma inan, ma vhenan, ar an el lath means "In my eyes, my heart I place our love"<br/>its not that good.<br/>it was like two in the morning when i wrote this</p></blockquote>





	Stay, Please

That day, he noted, the rotunda had been quite the spot to laze about and chat - which bothered him so. Gossip was for the tavern,  _not_ the library or rookery. But his anger was short-lived, for the hall and its proceeding floors emptied almost as quickly as they filled. As each person left, they took with them the sound and in its stead a morsel of peace. When the hall lie void of all, save for himself and the Tevinter mage, there was only silence to occupy the air.

In this blanket of peace, enlightenment was his. Solas found the sense that scattered like dust in an exhale came to him with ease now, their purpose embraced without the buzz of murmurs or shriek of those _damned_ ravens. Theories that creased even Dorian's brow - the 'conqueror of magical mysteries and complexities' - no longer puzzled Solas. Occasionally his attention would be torn from his studies and latch onto the odd soldier or informant, lazily dragging themselves along from a blurred evening in the tavern to a distant room lost in the immensity of Skyhold. For hours did he watch with those cool, keen eyes of his as they made their journey. But never did _she_ walk through those doors. 

Every night, Rhueon would waltz in, donning the day's abuse and smiling that tired, yet radiant smile, and bestow upon him a good-night kiss along with a shout to Dorian that he should indulge his glorious ass in rest before the night burned out. Solas found himself taking to the ritual swiftly. It was as if his being was beginning to greedily rely on the caress of those supple lips against his own - on the words heavy with their people's tongue, whispered like a secret into the shell of his ear.

_"In ma inan, ma vhenan, ar an el lath."_ she would say, gentle and honest. Solas would respond with the breath of his own secret.

To go without it . . .

"Dorian?" he called out, his voice a storm in the empty air.

The mage remained silent for all but a moment. "Mm?" Dorian hummed, too engrossed in some tome to pay much attention to Solas.

"Have you seen the Inquisitor? I must speak with her." 

A laugh as boisterous as a peacock moved to inhabit every nook within the hall, Dorian finding obvious amusement in his request. Solas was at a complete loss when it came to dealing with the man. Yet, he had grown to expect nothing less of Dorian's ways. He would mock at times and be too ignorant as others to tolerate. More times than not, conversations between the two would end in Dorian stumbling over words to mend the situation or Solas ignoring him.

Now it seemed he wished to mock. "Miss her already? How sweet, and here I thought you needed only that bald little head of yours to get along." Dorian said. He abandoned the plush seating of his alcove to press his weight to the railing of the library balcony. Upon his lips, beneath the flamboyant curl of his mustachio, danced an honest smile. But in the corners hid his mock.

Solas was well practiced in the art of patience, though Dorian seemed to rip apart every last fiber of that same well-honed patience. "I do. Very much so, indeed. I was only worried about you, my friend. If not her, then who would enough to pluck you from the world of your books? Certainly not your father."

That had cut deeper than any Templar blade or Venatori chant, and Solas knew it. But Dorian had respect for the elf. Not many people could wriggle so far beneath his skin and cause him to swat at the bump. His smile fell. "Last I saw her, she had taken to the tavern. Do be a lamb - forgive me, halla - and fetch her for the pair of us." Dorian finally said, a hint of a smile returning. "I would like it very much if she could pry me from the 'world of my books' and allow me some sleep."

Solas thanked him and hurried off to find her. No doubt the tavern was where she still remained. When she took to the tavern, she kept at the tavern. She so small, yet could drink so much . . .

It was not a place one would imagine a man of his kind to dwell in, but Solas did not mind the likes of a tavern. Many times did he find himself amused, if not impressed, by all the chaos induced by drink. In fact, a few favourite dreams of his resided in places serving the purpose of taverns. As soon as he entered, he knew where all the occupants of the rotunda had fled to. _Everyone_ was there. He searched for her face among the crowd. Nothing.

He proceeded to the second floor. Nothing. It was the third floor he found her on. Her laughter was all he heard. No clatter of flagons on tables or shouts of drunken men in arguments. Just her. Lavellan sat high among the company of her three companions. Spewing from his lips, Varric told his Tale of the Champion while both Blackwall and Cole listened intently. Rhueon just laughed away at something known only to her. It appeared that all three, with the exception of Cole had thoroughly cherished their drinks.

Only when Rhueon noticed his presence did they reach a halt. "Solas," she cooed, cheeks rosy, "sit with us. Drink. You need one."

"Yeah, if anyone is in need of an ass-loosening, it's you, Chuckles. Mean it from the bottom of my heart." Varric added in, smiling and offering him a half-empty flagon.

Smiling, Solas refused. "Forgive me, but I have come to speak with the Inquisitor. The matter is quite urgent." he said, the Inquisitor's hand slipping into his as she climbed down from her perch.

Both Blackwall and Varric wore masks of concern at his use of 'urgent.' Cole looked as he always did when Solas spoke - aware, yet lost. "Urgent?" Blackwall sputtered, the froth of yeasty ale caught in that thick, dark beard of his.

"He wants her to kiss him," Cole said, clearing up any confusion. With that, Varric and Blackwall began to laugh. They knew and understood as Cole did. Solas denied it not. Cole spoke the truth and that alone, to explain himself, to propose another reason would be to  shame himself.

After bidding all an amazing evening, she took to a walk with Solas. Together they climbed the steps to Skyhold, hands clasped tightly between them as if they both shared a fear of losing the other. All the while, Lavellan hummed tunes from the bard's lute, though the sound was warped beyond belief. Solas did not mind; it was comforting. It was sweet, even if it were awful. Again they braved stairs, but this flight was different. It led to a higher place where together they explored everything. Vast dreams of the past, little trinkets found all over Skyhold, glorious stories and even each other. There would be none of that tonight. She was too drunk to remember much of anything.

He led her up the turning stairs, the wall and his outstretched hand her only guide in a spinning world. "I can do it myself," she'd tell him. He'd let go, only to have her stumble and grab for his hand again. Solas would always smile when she came back to him. 

Finally they reached her lofty quarters. Already did a fire cackle away in the fireplace, warmth spreading into the cold depths of the tower. Lavellan giggled as she bounded for her bed, the mattress providing a soft place to land. Solas followed her to kneel by the bedside and prepare her for sleep. To sleep in boiled leathers and cold metals was something he imagined unpleasant. He began with her boots, their laces coming undone as easily as breathing. Next came the socks and when those came off, he placed a tender kiss upon her pulse residing in her ankle. It drew a little sigh from her. 

"Solas?" she asked, eyelids heavy as she gazed down at his. The black of her lashes contrasted well with the milk of her cheeks. 

"Yes?"

"What do you dream about? I mean, when you're not with the fade spirits. What do you  _dream_ about?"

Her question caused him to pause. It was a simple, innocent question, but the answers . . . 

They caused him pain. Perhaps he dwelt too much in the dreams and memories of others to remember his own true dreams, but he knew they were but a husk. _What do people dream about,_ he'd asked himself.   _The lost, the past, their wants and desires._ He dreamt of them too. With a sad smile, he looked up at her. "Things long gone."

She returned the smile. Rhueon's hand caressed his cheek. "Yeah?" she whispered.

"Yes." he agreed, leaning into that soft hand. She smelled of life, he noted. Like a warm breeze in the summer, like the spice in autumn, like the chill in winter, like the flowers in the spring.

He left her dressed in the clothes she wore beneath the armor, despite being stained with sweat. But he could see it in her eyes the exhaustion of the day. He gifted her with a tender kiss to the lips and left with a painful longing for more. Those sweet lips of hers desired more as well. He parted, but only for a second before she swept him back up in another kiss. It was as glorious and as passionate as warmth in the cold. 

"Stay, please." she begged.

And he did. 

He slipped between her sheets, the from of her body being taken into his arms. Her request was innocent - there was no lust in her voice. She just wanted  _him_. She wanted arms to embrace her and a heart to pound in her ear. And that it did.

They slept with arms wound around one another and breath shared. 

Solas dreamt not that night of the lost, but of the found.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted to write something 'bout these little shit life-ruiners.  
> Hope i hit the mark.  
> As for the translation, n ma inan, ma vhenan, ar an el lath means "In my eyes, my heart I place our love"  
> its not that good.  
> it was like two in the morning when i wrote this


End file.
